


Blackbird

by Everren



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, F/M, Public Hand Jobs, Unnamed female character - Freeform, Vaginal Fingering, Vampire Bites, no beta we die like men, you choose who she is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:03:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27198224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everren/pseuds/Everren
Summary: It’s him, the man with eyes like whisky, and those eyes are trained on me from barely two feet away. Intense: that’s the word he brings to my mind. His lips turn up in a smile and it spreads long dimples down his cheeks. Hungry: that’s another word.An odd and unplanned little oneshot inspired bythis #ShamelessSinday tweetby Lexi.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Reader, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 29
Kudos: 74
Collections: 2021 Reylo MonsterLoving Valentines





	Blackbird

**Author's Note:**

> _Blackbird singing in the dead of night  
>  Take these broken wings and learn to fly  
> All your life  
> You were only waiting for this moment to arise_
> 
> _Blackbird singing in the dead of night  
>  Take these sunken eyes and learn to see  
> All your life  
> You were only waiting for this moment to be free_
> 
> _Blackbird fly, blackbird fly_  
>  _Into the light of a dark black night_
> 
> ‘Blackbird’, The Beatles

He’s tall; his head rises above those of the crowd around him, and his eyes look almost amber in this light. They’re enchanting. I can’t look away from them... until I remember that I’m still on stage and the polite applause of the Open Mic Night audience is dying away into awkward silence. I clear my throat, blinking the enchantment away, and mumble a last ‘thank you’ into the microphone before stumbling down off the stage, my guitar slung across my back. 

I’d left my case in the small booth where I’d been sitting, along with the dregs of the beer I’d been using to calm my nerves while I’d waited to go on stage. I open it up as soon as I get back there and tuck my guitar carefully away. I’m just closing the clasps when I sense someone behind me. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck and I turn around. 

It’s him, the man with eyes like whisky, and those eyes are trained on me from barely two feet away. Intense: that’s the word he brings to my mind. His lips turn up in a smile and it spreads long dimples down his cheeks. Hungry: that’s another word. 

“Great show,” he says, his voice deep and rich, as easy to drown in as his eyes.

“Thanks.” I pause, but he just keeps smiling, so I carry on, “I, er, saw you watching in the crowd.”

His smile grows wider until it looks almost lupine. 

“I’m Kylo,” he offers, just when the silence has stretched on a moment too long and I’m about to start babbling just to cut the tension. 

I let out a breath of relief and start, “I’m—“ but he cuts me off. 

“I know who you are.”

“You do?” I ask hesitantly. He casts a pointed glance down at the table where the Open Mic performers list that they’re handing out on the door is lying. “Oh, right, yeah.”

“Are you planning to stick around a while? I’d love to buy you a drink and hear more about your songwriting process.”

My stomach does a funny little wobble because this man — Kylo — is hot, for all that he looks like he might eat me whole. He has soft-looking, black hair which falls in swoops around his long face, full lips which stand out pink against his pale, mole-spangled skin, and a strong, noble nose. Maybe he’s not conventionally handsome, but if someone had taken everything I find attractive in a man and built one just for me, he would be it. The fact that he’s talking to me, wants to spend time with me... well, it has my heart racing and my chin dipping in assent before I even have chance to really consider his offer. 

We talk for nearly an hour once he returns from the bar with two cold beers, and it’s surprisingly easy. I thought I’d be too intimidated by him to be coherent, but he has a way of putting me at ease, and I relax into his company, despite the ever-present prickle at the back of my neck every time he flashes me that grin. 

It isn’t the only part of me that’s responding to his attention either. I find myself pressing my thighs together whenever I hear his deep, throaty chuckle, helplessly agitating the heat that’s growing at their apex beneath the denim of my jeans. There’s no way he could know, of course, but each time I do it, I imagine I see his nostrils flare slightly. 

I find out that he works in the city — in Human Resource Management, I think he says — but that he doesn’t particularly enjoy his job. He asks about mine and I wish I had something interesting or impressive to tell him, but he doesn’t seem to mind that I don’t. He listens to me as though he’s rapt, as though I’m the only person in this bar, or perhaps the world. It’s intoxicating, this kind of attention. I find I like it a lot. 

We talk about songwriting too, of course. He asks about my inspiration and compliments my voice, tells me how much he enjoyed listening to me sing. The praise runs through me like a drug, borne easily on my alcohol-warmed blood straight to the warm, wet place between my legs. I start to wonder what it would be like to hear him praising me for other things too, and the idea makes me feel vaguely weak. 

When I eventually notice the time and gasp that I have to go, he rises at once and offers to walk me to my car.

“Oh, you don’t have to. It’s only out the back and you haven’t finished your beer.” In fact, he’s hardly touched it.

“I want to,” he replies, and I believe him. Everything he says seems so sincere. 

“Okay, then.”

He stoops to pick up my guitar case just as I bend to do the same. Our faces come within an inch of each other’s and I feel my heart give a heady leap as I pull back. He grins, closing his large hand around the case handle, and I return his smile as he straightens back up. I hadn’t noticed before but his teeth are slightly crooked. It makes his canines look particularly sharp and white. 

He must notice me looking because he adjusts his smile to cover them like it’s something he’s used to hiding. An insecurity. A chink in his well-developed armour. I find it endearing.

We make our way out of the bar together, through the press of people still listening to the stream of performers on stage. There’s a tighter press of bodies as we near the door and Kylo motions for me to go first. I do, and as he follows close behind, I feel the brush of his hand against my lower back. The featherlight touch sends sparks racing through me and I almost stop in my tracks just to force his palm more firmly against my spine. I just about resist, and then we’re out in the clear, cool, fresh air underneath a dark sky studded with stars. 

“It’s down this way,” I say, nodding along the narrow street that runs beside the bar and leads to the parking lot out back. Kylo nods and walks beside me, his arm hanging at his side now, his other hand still clasping my guitar case. 

“I’ve enjoyed this,” I tell him, peeking a glance up at his face.

“Me too,” he replies, meeting my gaze with those expressive eyes. Despite the darkness in the side road, they seem to glint. “You’re a rare treat.”

I feel my cheeks heat. The way he speaks about me, like I’m something to be savoured and consumed, makes my skin tingle excitedly. 

“Do you want to—“

“Kiss you?” he interrupts. “Yes.”

“I was going to say ‘do this again’ but—“ 

I make myself shut up because Kylo has put down my guitar case and turned to face me. We must have stopped walking at some point because I’m stood still, looking up at him as he comes closer, my heart fluttering in my chest like a bird caught in a net.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” he asks, his neck bowed, his mouth close to mine. 

“Yes,” I breathe, consumed by the heady musk of his cologne and the swirling whiskey of his gaze. 

His lips are soft, like I imagined they would be. They meet mine and steal my breath away, and my ability to stand, apparently, because I have to put my hand up against his chest to steady myself. He only steps closer, his hands closing around my waist then running around me to find that spot on my back already branded his by his touch. 

His body is all cool, toned muscle beneath his black T-shirt and, as I slide my hand up his chest to his neck, the image of a Greek statue comes to mind. White marble. Immovable, unchanging. The beauty of life captured in stone for the centuries. 

It’s an absurd thing to think of, especially when my arms are looping around Kylo’s neck and I can feel his body moving against mine as he walks me back against the rough, brick wall behind me. Statues don’t move. Statues don’t kiss. Statues don’t set my insides on fire the way Kylo does. I don’t resist him. I want this. I want to feel him pressed against me. My mouth is insistent on his, encouraging, my tongue meeting his every coaxing advance.

Perhaps I should be more coy, insist we slow down, but the truth is that I’ve been thinking about doing just this ever since he’d caught my eye from the crowd, and now I don’t want to let the moment pass me by. I can count the truly erotic experiences I’ve had in my life on the fingers of one hand, and this is already shaping up to overtake all of them: caged up against a wall in a deserted street by this tall, dark, mysterious man, his hands moving up my sides, ruching up my sweater as they go, so his fingertips can trace the lines of my ribs, skin on skin. 

His fingers are cold from the night air, drawing goosebumps from my burning flesh. I want more; I want his hands all over me. I push myself forward and upwards into his grasp, standing on my tiptoes to better attack his mouth. He doesn’t disappoint me. I feel his thumbs brush the undersides of my breasts through the material of my bra, following the line of the wire, and I can’t help but whimper my enjoyment against his lips. 

He pulls back slightly, and my mouth feels bereft, but the sound of the smirk in his voice as he murmurs, “You like me touching you?” is hot enough to seem like fair compensation. I nod eagerly, pressing my eyes tight shut against the embarrassment I might normally feel at being so thoroughly called out. I hear him chuckle at my enthusiasm and the vibrations it causes in his broad chest makes desire pool low in my belly. It’s a desire which begs to be sated. 

“Keep going,” I plead, cracking my eyelids just long enough to make sure that we’re still alone in the darkness. We are, and Kylo wastes no time in acquiescing, pushing my top up at the front so he can stoop and mouth at my breasts. My bra is thin, old — I hadn’t been expecting this tonight — but it means I can feel every brush of Kylo’s lips through the material. 

I lean my head back against the wall, trying to stifle my whimpers, my thighs pressed tightly together and my eyes fixed on the bright end of the alley. Someone could walk around the corner at any moment. The idea is both horrifying and heartstoppingly exciting. It instills a sense of urgency and recklessness in me that I’m not used to. 

I run my fingers through Kylo’s dark hair, making a mess of the careful waves, and gasp as I feel him deftly peel down the cup of my bra to run his tongue over my nipple. He responds by catching the little bud between his teeth and giving a playful nip — or perhaps not so playful, as it hurts, more than I’d normally like, but from him, here, now, the pain mingles with pleasure and adrenaline to make me feel like a live wire, sparking uncontrollably. 

“So delicious,” he purrs against my skin, sending a new cascade of electricity glancing through me.

When he lifts his head, a smug smile plastered across his face, his thumb swirling lazily around my nipple to soothe away the leftover pain, I see a bead of dark red blood hanging on his lip. My blood. The sight of it makes me feel funny, like it’s something I should care about, something I need to pay attention to, but instead of responding to the unsettled feeling in my stomach, I surge forward and suck it hungrily from his skin. 

It’s his turn to groan now and I’m forced back hard against the wall as he presses his hips into mine. I can feel that he’s hard inside his black jeans and it sends my mind reeling. He’s so tall, so thick and wide, with hands the breadth of dinner plates and feet to match, and from what I can feel against my belly, his dick is completely in proportion with the rest of him. I want to see it, touch it, taste it. 

I reach down, cupping my hand over the straining denim, and for a moment, he pushes into my palm, letting me feel the way I’ve aroused him, but then he pulls back with a muttered curse. 

“No,” he grunts, and I withdraw my hand like it has been burned, the shame of rejection flaring hot in my cheeks. However, he catches my wrist, closing his fingers around it, and arcs his neck down, forcing me to meet his eyes. “I want to be able to focus on you.”

I melt, embarrassment at once changing to desperate want. Those few words are maybe the hottest thing I’ve ever heard and I show him so in the fierce way I resume our kiss. His hand loosens around my wrist and guides my arm up and around his neck, and I gladly slide my fingers into his hair again, holding on for dear life.

I’m his now, and I think he senses it because he doesn’t pause to ask for permission when he unbuttons my jeans and slips his hand inside my underwear. I grip his hair tighter and lap my consent against his tongue, then promptly forget how to breathe when I feel his fingertips sliding through the slick lips of my cunt. 

His fingers are broad and a little rough and they feel incredible against my clit. He rolls them around the little nub for a moment, seeming to enjoy the way I twitch and gasp against him, before pushing them lower to tease my hole. I can feel his lips stretching in a smile and I let my own break away from him as a grin spreads across my face. 

What is this? Who am I? I barely recognise myself in this wanton, adventurous woman, finding pleasure in the arms of a handsome stranger in the alley beside a crowded bar. I’m the girl of my own dreams and it feels incredible.

Kylo’s mouth moves down my neck and I feel the tantalising scrape of his teeth against my skin before they’re quickly replaced by the caress of his lips, but it’s hard to concentrate on anything at all except the wonderful feeling of being breached as he pushes one long finger inside me. 

He’s cupping my sex as he fucks into me, beckoning me into his palm, and I greedily grind down against it. The friction is just what I needed and I whimper helplessly into the darkness of my closed eyelids, tilting my head back to rest against the brickwork. 

His finger begins to move faster and my hands grip tighter, pulling on fistfuls of the soft, black hair at the nape of his neck, then there’s a pause and I gasp as he eases in a second digit to join the first. It’s a tight fit and my cunt flutters around the intrusion as I adjust to the stretch. 

“That’s... good,” I pant. “Really good. Oh, please, yes, more!” 

That low chuckle vibrates up through Kylo’s chest once more and I clench, tight. 

“Mm, that’s right,” he murmurs, “sing for me, little bird.” He says it as though he’s the cat. 

I’m powerless to do anything but what he asks. The sounds of pleasure, which I’d been so careful to keep stifled before, now escape me unchecked, disappearing into the friendly night which shields us from prying eyes.

He shifts his hand, making room for his thumb to find my clit, stooping to give himself the proper leverage, and at once, stars begin to pop behind my eyes.

“Yes, yes, oh fuck, I’m really close, Kylo,” I babble, the words falling from my lips on their own without input from my brain.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. It won’t be long now.” He presses a long, slow kiss to my throat, in the warm, soft spot behind my ear. “You’re going to taste so sweet when you come.”

The mixture of sensations are overwhelming; they make my knees feel weak. Kylo doesn’t let me fall, though. He keeps me pinned against the wall, one hand palming at my breast, the other plunged deep inside my pants, bringing me closer and closer to oblivion. 

He curls his fingers inside me, his thumb slipping back and forth across my swollen clit, and I cry out, too far gone to care if anyone hears. I can feel the fire curling deep inside, an elastic band pulled tight, ready to snap. 

“Look at me,” he commands, lifting his head, and I obey, at once getting trapped in the beam of his amber gaze. “So lovely,” he purrs, watching from his front row seat as I begin to fall apart on his fingers. “I knew as soon as I saw you up there that I had to have you.” His words send shivers racing through me, making the fire inside spit and crackle and flare up higher than it had been before, burning me alive. 

“I’m going to— Kylo, I’m going to—“

“Yes. Come for me,” he urges, his pupils blown wide, the moonlight glinting off of his sharp, white teeth as he tilts his chin up and parts his lips.

The pleasure is intense now, nearly all-consuming, so much so that I almost miss the subtle lengthening of his canines and the red bloom which bleeds into the whiskey of his irises. My eyes widen, a frisson of fear passing through me, but it only adds to the maelstrom inside. I’ve been teetering on the edge for a while now and the predatory smile he flashes me in response to the panic in my cry is enough to tip me over. 

I wail as I come, throwing my head back against the bricks, my cunt spasming around the two thick fingers I’m still speared on. I feel Kylo’s other hand at my throat, caressing, tilting my head to one side, then the sharp sting of his teeth piercing my flesh. I’m too wrapped up in bliss to protest, my body quaking with little aftershocks as I fall limp against him.

It’s strange, the sensation of having my life drawn out from me, but it’s not entirely unpleasant, not when Kylo is still gently stroking my cunt while he laps at the blood pumping from the wounds in my neck. I know I’m dying, that he’s killing me, that I need to fight back, but if it means leaving his embrace, I’m not sure I really want to.

“Please—“ I breathe, my voice sounding strange to my own ears, heavy and thick. “Please don’t... You can’t...”

“Oh sweetheart, I can,” he soothes. “I must.” I feel a hot trickle of blood run down my neck to soak into my sweater where he’s lifted his mouth away. Part of me laments the waste. “But I made it good for you, didn’t I?”

I let out a choked noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You’re a monster.”

He stills, then lifts his head to look me in the eye. The sight is both beautiful and terrible. I can’t help but marvel, even through the dark haze which is beginning to close in on my vision. His soft, full lips are stained crimson with blood, my blood, and it runs down his chin in sticky rivulets. His eyes no longer bear any resemblance to amber or whiskey, they just glint with death and regret.

“Yes,” he says. “I am.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [sing for me, little bird {art}](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27298675) by [altocello](https://archiveofourown.org/users/altocello/pseuds/altocello)




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